


Tailgate and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (That quickly Got Better)

by Sacramental_Wine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dominance, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex, ass worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacramental_Wine/pseuds/Sacramental_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Tell me what you like about me,” Tailgate demanded. He was going to have his ego boost even if he had to make the larger mech." Tailgate has been having the worst day. Is it too much to expect some sympathy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tailgate and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (That quickly Got Better)

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write this for great justice. I hope you all enjoy.

Tailgate was having a bad day. A very bad day. Processor breakingly bad. 

First, Rodimus had made him climb through a vent to find out whether or not Swerve was hiding better high grade behind the bar. Then Swerve had him helping to hide the good stuff in a better place and then of course someone had to listen to Ultra Magnus’ lecture or all of them would have to go and he was promptly volunteered and THEN...ugh everything ached and Tailgate was actually about to snap under the pressure. 

He managed to get to his hab suite without further incident after shaking Whirl who was looking rather bored and that never ended well. He couldn’t deal with Whirl right now. He might explode. But the idea of being in his room and alone for just a moment made him feel a little better. He walked into the blissfully empty room and sat on his berth.

Of course such peace cannot last on bad days and Cyclonus came home early. Very early. Only five minutes after Tailgate sat down actually. Tailgate wanted the flyer to say something. To ask how he was feeling or even a hello or maybe even a grunt but Cyclonus was stubbornly quiet. Cyclonus sat on his berth and pulled a data pad from his subspace. Not a peep escaped his vocalizer which, for some reason, seemed to annoy the minibot even more. 

“Well hello to you too,” he said and it was the tone more than the words that made Cyclonus look up. He folded his arms when the red optics narrowed on him.

“Hello Tailgate,” Cyclonus said. Even the small acknowledgement from his lover seemed to be just right to push his buttons the wrong way today and Tailgate huffed through his vents roughly. “How are you feeling?” The question was cautious, well for Cyclonus anyway. Not that anyone other than Tailgate could even tell.

“Oh you know,” Tailgate rolled his optics behind his visor, “having a fan-fragging-tastic day.” Well at least Cyclonus had bothered to ask. 

“Oh good.” And the slagger went right back to reading. Really? REALLY? Tailgate felt like he might have pulled something with how quickly he stormed over to Cyclonus’ berth and sat down. Or maybe that was just the feeling of his logic board finally snapping in half under the strain. 

He pulled the data pad out of Cyclonus’ claws and tossed it across the room to land on his own berth. “When I said my day was “fan-fragging-tastic” I really meant that I’ve been having a slagging awful day and maybe my lover should be a bit more understanding and should maybe, I don’t know, offer some comfort?” He tapped his pede on the frame of the berth. 

On a good day he would have laughed at the subtle play of emotions over Cyclonus’ face. The anger melting into stoic regret that further melted into a hilarious mix of thought and confusion. This, however, was not a good day so really it just ended up with a staring contest that neither one of them was winning. Cyclonus ex-vented hard. “I didn’t realize your tone was sarcastic.” One of Tailgate’s optics may have just popped he was twitching so hard. 

Really he just wanted Cyclonus to quit being an aft and make him feel better dammit! Clearly the flyer was still a little dense on how these things worked and Tailgate was angry enough to forget to be shy. If Cyclonus needed to be taught how to take care of his lover than Tailgate was going to show him. 

He would have done it just for the shock that bloomed in those crimson optics as he firmly seated himself across the other’s hips, spreading his own legs wide. 

“Tell me what you like about me,” Tailgate demanded. He was going to have his ego boost even if he had to make the larger mech. 

“Excuse-” 

“I said, tell me what you like about me. Right now.” Tailgate reveled in Cyclonus’ optics dragging their way to his hips. The other mech just had to say it. 

“I,” Cyclonus’ vocalizer clicked and reset, “I appreciate the time we spend together. I find you are enjoyable to talk with and our lessons are engaging.” Not exactly what Tailgate wanted to hear. It was a start though. The minibot tilted his head and his body language screamed ‘tell me more’. “You...feel better?” 

Tailgate hummed a bit in frustration. He knew he didn’t often initiate things and yes, it was out of character for him to jump on his lover and demand anything but frag it he wanted something less tentative today. And if that included hearing Cyclonus finally admit how much he liked his hips and aft that was Tailgate’s business and no one else’s. He leaned back slightly and looked Cyclonus right in the optics. “Not sure, you’re going to have to try harder.” 

Cyclonus looked distinctly uncomfortable. Good. Serves the fragger right. Tailgate waved his servo in a teasing circle and waited. The larger mech’s servos creeped up to hover around the distinct curve of Tailgate’s hips and was shocked when the shy little bot slapped his wrist. “You’re going to have to say it before I let you touch, Cyclonus.” And suddenly it made horrendously embarrassing sense. 

And far be it from Tailgate to lie and say that he didn’t enjoy the shy look that crossed his normally stoic lover’s face. 

“I...Fine, I really like your hips. Satisfied?” 

“Hmm? Oh I’m sorry you’re going to have to expand upon that for me.” Tailgate shifted his hips in a slow circle over Cyclonus’ interface panel. He smiled behind his mask. 

Cyclonus growled low and his engine revved softly. “Your frame is highly pleasing to the optic. It’s not a burden to look at you during more intimate moments.” Compliments did not come easily to Cyclonus. Usually you’re lucky just to get a hello. Tailgate was after something far more interesting. 

The minibot started to grind his hips down teasingly; trailing a digit down the center seam in Cyclonus’ chest and supporting himself with his other servo low on the flyer’s abdomen. “Try again. You’re starting to get warmer.” 

Cyclonus heard his cooling fans click on to dissipate the heat steadily building in his frame. Primus, if Tailgate kept doing that with his aft then Cyclonus was going to have a harder time of keeping his servos to himself than he already did. He growled in frustration and want and confusing arousal at this new side of the minibot. One particularly sinuous grind blew Cyclonus’ patience to bits. 

“You want to know exactly what I think? Fine,” Cyclonus growled helplessly, “I fragging love your aft. I love putting dents in your hips when I ram my spike into you to trace over later. Every time you bend over I want to bury my glossa in your valve and never fragging leave! I want to trace every nook and cranny of your luscious frame with my servos so I can imagine how perfectly your hips fit in them all day when I’m bored on my shifts. Whenever we are walking together I stand behind you just so I can remember the way your curves move when you’re riding my spike into oblivion. Primus I want to lick our fluids off of your thighs after we interface just so I can hold on to your plating just that much longer. I’d keep you in the berth all day if I could just to have you with your aft in the air and open for me to worship your superb body work.” 

Tailgate purred and flicked open the manual locks on Cyclonus’ interface panel. Cyclonus’ spike jutted up from its casing as soon as it had the chance and the larger mech let out a soft moan in relief. Tailgate’s own engine revved hard at the sight and if his lover’s diatribe hadn’t been enough to get him lubricating the proof of how much he was wanted certainly did. He clicked open his mask and licked up the side of Cyclonus’ spike, drawing a harsh groan out of the mech over him. 

“I think that was good enough to let you touch,” he said; the words were barely spoken before large, clawed servos found his hips and started to delve into every seam available. Tailgate sucked on the tip of Cyclonus’ spike while the larger mech traced the edges of his interface panel only to move back and squeeze his aft roughly with a growl. Tailgate had to admit, he wasn’t feeling quite as angry anymore now that the energy had been transmuted into something far more heated but that didn’t mean he wanted soft and gentle right now. 

He ground his aft back into the grabbing hands and gave a showy moan around Cyclonus’ spike. The vibration won him another growl and claws scratching at the catches of his panel clumsily. Tailgate licked and kissed his way up from the base of Cyclonus’ spike to suck hard at the tip before pulling away and licking his lips. He loved it when Cyclonus’ optics dimmed with lust and how he knew that look was only for him. That only he could make this mighty warrior weak with want over something as simple as the curves of his frame. It sent a heated shiver down his back strut to pool in his interface panel. He felt lubricant collecting in his seams. This really was just what he’d needed. 

Tailgate opened his own panel and lifted himself up to let Cyclonus watch the slow slip of lubricant trail invitingly down his thighs from his valve. The larger mech licked his lip plates distractedly. Tailgate’s valve clenched in want and he trailed a digit through the mess on his leg, collecting some of the lubricant. He brought his servo up to his mouth and cleaned the mess from his plating slowly, making sure his optics stayed locked on the red ones in front of him. 

That got a loud growl out of Cyclonus whose spike twitched and the calipers in his arms corded up to keep him from simply flipping the minibot over and ramming into him hard. He was intrigued enough to let Tailgate have his fun though and his curiosity won out over the throbbing in his interface components. “Tailgate...fragging tease.” He threw his helm back when Tailgate rubbed their spikes together. How long would his curiosity last exactly. 

Tailgate made a tsking noise and slid up his lover’s frame to tilt Cyclonus’ helm back up with a pull on his horn. “Pay attention to me, optics open please,” he said firmly. Cyclonus looked at him with rapt attention as the minibot turned around to show off his dripping valve. Tailgate traced a finger around the rim and hummed in pleasure at his own touch. He looked over his shoulder to watch Cyclonus’ focus zero in on the supple metal framed by his white thighs. 

He pushed his digit in slowly, tripping over nodes and making himself moan. Tailgate bent his frame forward so he’d be able to watch Cyclonus from between his own legs. He could even imagine his lover’s glossa worshipping his valve wantonly like this and the very thought made him shiver and start stretching himself faster. Normally they would take their time and Cyclonus would stretch Tailgate until his calipers felt like liquid metal but the minibot had no such patience and was soon thrusting into himself in earnest, moaning softly in time with the roar of Cyclonus’ engine. 

Tailgate pulled his soaked digits from his valve with a strangled whimper and backed himself up to tease the tip of Cyclonus’ spike with the lip of his valve. He pulled Cyclonus’ servos to his hips and moved in small circles as he slowly pushed down onto his lover. They moaned in harmony as he slid down his lover’s massive girth and Cyclonus gripped at those coveted curves like a lifeline. Tailgate threw his helm back and reveled in the stretch, the tight fit that never failed to send his sensor net reeling. When he felt his valve calipers finally relax Tailgate began to draw himself up and down. 

“Ah Cyclonus,” Tailgate hissed as the spike’s ridges rubbed against his nodes and sent sparks all across his frame. He knew Cyclonus liked this position, liked to watch his little valve stretch wide open around that large spike. It kept his legs spread wide and he felt Cyclonus trail a claw tip up the back of his thigh to follow the trail of fluid and scratch at the edge of his interface panel. Tailgate moaned loudly and gave a hard thrust downward.

  
“Slag,” Cyclonus growled, optics cycled wide and burning the image into his processor. “I could do this all fragging day, watch your aft bounce on my lap and swallow up my spike.” Cyclonus thrust up in time with Tailgate and groaned at the burning tightness. “Such a perfect frame for interface. You were built for this, it’s all I could think about since we met.” 

Tailgate moaned and began to ride Cyclonus faster. He felt sparks dance over his frame, blue and white flashes connecting the two of them and sending tingles through their plating. “More, harder!” he demanded and Cyclonus met him thrust for thrust. Faster meeting harder seamlessly. Of course, that wasn’t all Tailgate wanted and when Cyclonus didn’t immediately provide he slowed his movements, glaring over his shoulder as best he could. The larger mech growled and moaned and thrashed and finally gave in, grabbing Tailgate harder and slamming him down. 

“I could write songs about what I w-want to do to that frame of yours,” frag he was so close he could taste static tripping over his glossa. “Tailgate...I want...” he was cut off by his minibot slamming their hips together faster, chasing his own overload until sparks flew and they shrieked in counterpoint.

They moved through the aftershocks and their plating quaked and clanged together as they slowed to a stop. Their armor pinged as it cooled and Tailgate laid backwards to drape himself over Cyclonus’ chest. Tailgate craned his neck up for a kiss, he was met halfway by a lazy pair of lips and a gentle glossa. Large hands stroked him through those last tingles as the spike was pulled out of him. Their mixed fluids spread over his thighs and suddenly he was on his back with glowing red optics boring into him and talons making themselves at home on his thighs. 

“I did tell you that I wanted to do this,” Cyclonus said benignly before diving between Tailgate’s thighs and licking them clean. Tailgate’s venting picked up rapidly as Cyclonus lapped up their fluids, making his way toward the rim of his valve. Tailgate shuddered, bucking his hips into Cyclonus’ teasing mouth. Everything was too sensitive, too good and temperature warnings pinged him urgently and oh Primus he was going to overload again. Cyclonus sucked on an external node while licking hard at his valve rim and Tailgate’s optics went white. 

He moaned and thrashed through his second overload and whimpered when Cyclonus’ glossa didn’t stop collecting the taste of him.

He got comfortable and spread his legs wide so Cyclonus could loop his servos under his thighs to lightly dent the plating and knead it obsessively.

Primus, Tailgate needed to have more bad days.


End file.
